


Open and Exposed

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was asked to write a prompt for 'Outside sex perhaps with some voyeurism'</p><p>This is what I came up with.</p><p>Beta'd by Sherlockholmesconsultingvampire (because she's amazing)</p><p>Comment and kudos = Tingly goodness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open and Exposed

The case was a three, at best. Sherlock rolled his eyes and skirted the edge of the crime scene with a bored expression, throwing deductions machine gun fast whilst John and Lestrade looked on impressed as always. John was wearing Sherlock's favourite cream wool jumper, his hair tousled from the inability to dry it before rushing from the shower when the call came through and – there – just below the collar of his jumper, whenever he moved, Sherlock could see the edge of the love bite he had sucked into the pale skin the night before when they had made passionate love on the floor of the sitting room.

Sherlock felt his trousers becoming tighter as he watched John chatting to Lestrade. Probably something tedious like football or television but it was the way John's entire face animated itself, his hands gesturing and his eyes crinkling when he laughed. Sherlock couldn't wait any longer, he stalked over to the two men, standing slightly too close to John and interrupting their conversation.

“Sister in law. Wanted the jewels. Check her safety deposit box,” he rattled off, checking his phone nonchalantly. “Is that all?”

“Thanks,” Lestrade nodded. “Actually, I have a box of case files, just come up from records. I wondered if you wanted to go through them?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head, causing both Lestrade and John's heads to snap up to stare at him in shock and surprise. “I can't. Not tonight. I have something on.”

“No you don't,” John frowned. “What have you got on?”

“Something very important, John.” Sherlock met his eyes, the detective's own being wide and almost completely black with desire as he licked his lips. John understood and blushed, nodding.

“Oh yeah. That… thing. I forgot about the thing. Very important,” he mumbled, his cheeks beginning to blush.

“Oh Christ. Just… Go.” Lestrade playfully retched. “It's sickening. You're like teenagers.”

“Hardly. Neither of us have the refractory period to indulge in teenage-like lust,” Sherlock explained, only for John to put a hand on his chest to stop him mid sentence. Sherlock blinked but understood that perhaps that was a little 'not good' on his part so he clamped his lips closed.

“Statement tomorrow?” John asked Lestrade, thankful when the DI nodded and gestured with his hand for them to leave.

* * *

John was following Sherlock, his hand in the larger one as the detective pulled and tugged him along, quicker, desperate and full of need. They passed a dead end alley, basically a storage point for the bins of a nearby establishment before Sherlock stopped and turned back, pushing John down into the alleyway and practically pouncing on him with demanding lips and needy, humming kisses.

“We shouldn't,” John sighed, twisting his head so that his neck was bare for Sherlock to lick, kiss and suck upon. The detective loved to kiss a spot directly behind John's ear, where the scent was strongest.

“Nobody will see,” Sherlock attempted to reassure John whilst also undoing the smaller man's belt, pushing his hand into the slightly damp cotton briefs to cup and stroke John's erection.

John groaned, his legs almost buckling as he grabbed onto his lover and rolled his hips into Sherlock's hand. His cock was hard, leaking already and smearing precome up and across the pale wrist and Sherlock's hand.

“Needed this. Saw you, need you,” Sherlock muttered.

John loved seeing Sherlock this way, almost insensible with desire. He stopped using proper sentences when he was this far gone, only to devolve into harsh grunts and panting breaths interspersed with John's name and a litany of 'Oh gods'.

“Shhh,” John soothed, kissing Sherlock passionately, pushing his tongue into the younger man's mouth and licking in that _oh so perfect_ way that Sherlock loved. His hands wrapped around muscular shoulders, tangling in his hair as he continued to buck and roll his hips. He groaned into Sherlock's mouth when he felt Sherlock's hand teasing his tip, using his callused, chemical scarred thumb to slick around his sensitive glans whilst Sherlock opened his own trousers. Their cocks met with Sherlock's hands wrapped around both, thrusting his hips shallowly in order to feel the perfect friction against his prick.

“I'll still be open,” John groaned, nipping at Sherlock's jaw line, “from last night.”

“Brilliant,” Sherlock sighed, rapidly moving to pull down John's trousers until they were around his thighs and then turning the man to face the wall, putting him in the correct position. Sherlock spat on his hand, unwilling to waste a moment attempting to get to Baker Street for the lubricant. He needed John now, and every synapse in his brain was screaming for the hot, wet tightness around his cock which came from pushing himself into John's body.

He moved to press his cock inside John only to find the way blocked; frowning, Sherlock lowered his head and grinned at the plastic base of John's favourite plug, still lodged deeply in his arse.

“I said I'd still be open,” John smirked, a soft blush covering his cheeks.

“You astound me,” Sherlock chuckled, his voice deep and dark like melted chocolate.

Sherlock glanced quickly out of the mouth of the alley and then pushed up against John, pressing John into the wall with his warm chest beneath his coat. “That’s incredibly arousing,” he whispered to John, crowding closer and bending his head a little. “I wish I’d known sooner – I’m exceptionally impressed that you kept it a secret for so long. Not any easy thing to do. I’m assuming this is possibly the first time you’ve had one in during a crime-scene, yes? Unless I was distracted the other times you did it?”

“Shut up and fuck me,” John growled, bending over and grabbing the wall before looking over his shoulder when Sherlock seemed to still, watching him with wide eyes. “Now, Sherlock.”

“Right. Right yes.” Sherlock nodded, using his hand to pull the plug from John's arse. He wrapped it in his handkerchief and placed it on top of a large bin, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation before lining his cock up and pushing forward.

John inhaled sharply, he still wasn't quite used to the stretch despite the months of almost constant sex. There was an unpleasant burn as Sherlock pushed himself completely inside, holding still for a long moment to allow John to gather his thoughts and adjust to the sensations before he pulled almost completely out.

“Jeeeeez,” John exhaled, dropping his head to his hands again and circling his hips. “This… this isn't going to be a prolonged event.”

Sherlock chuckled, letting his hand slither around John's waist to grab the leaking cock below. John hissed, shuddering with desire as Sherlock slid his thumb across the wet glans and thrust inside John's body again and again, deeper and deeper, moving his position constantly until the hitched breath told him that he had found John's prostate.

“Sherlock,” John groaned, eyes fluttering closed and fists clenched as he was taken.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed in reply, thrusting harder, faster, more frenzied as he picked up the pace around John's cock. He gave a hard roll of his hips and John was coming, hard and almost painfully spilling into Sherlock's fist and down the brickwork until the final drips landed in his pants. John shuddered, his legs buckling and shaking as Sherlock thrust once, twice and then he was coming with a choked off grunt and a hot, wet bloom inside John's body.

Sherlock kissed along John's neck, nipping playfully before pulling his cock out of the abused hole. He stopped for a moment before grabbing the anal plug from it's resting place; he spat on the bulbous end and pushed it inside John, listening to the grotesque squishing noise from the residual come that was slowly leaking out of John's body.

“Hygienic,” John winced, standing and adjusting himself as he pulled up his trousers and zipped them up.

“Better than leaking all the way home,” Sherlock insisted, kissing John chastely on the lips before his eyes opened wide and slightly panicked.

“What?” John asked, dread seeping into his body.

Sherlock didn't speak, simply cocked his head and nodded towards something John hadn't noticed.

* * *

The Diogenes club was empty and Mycroft sat in front of the large, wood burning fire reading the latest Russian reports. The usual group of politicians who spent their evenings glaring at one another had buggered off to do goodness knows what, which allowed Mycroft the entire lounge area of the club to himself. He relaxed back into the plush seat, enjoying the aroma of burning wood and expensive leather as he reached across to grab his china cup full of Earl Grey.

“Sir?” Anthea signed, despite being alone in the room Mycroft insisted upon tradition regardless of situation.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in her direction, a non-verbal communication of _'this better be good'._

Anthea looked on steely and without fear, signing the one symbol which immediately made Mycroft sigh out loud. The symbol was the BSL letter B, but Mycroft and Anthea both referred privately to it as 'Infinity'.

B= Infinity = Infinitely trouble = Sherlock.

* * *

“Do you think he saw?” John asked, walking back to Baker Street beside Sherlock. They didn't hold hands or show any public displays of affection… mainly because it was too much of a hassle to be stopped for photos constantly when the paparazzi followed them around.

“The all seeing Piecroft?” Sherlock scoffed. “Of course he did.”

“What will we do?” John panicked, sweat beaded on his forehead. “I could be in real trouble for this… the practice?”

“He won't release the tape,” Sherlock promised. “He'll probably use it for something worse… blackmailing me to visit mummy no doubt.”

“That'll be nice. I haven't seen her since Christmas,” John smiled, nudging Sherlock.

The detective grumbled under his breath just as his text alert went off in his pocket. Fingering the digits, he opened it up and looked at the message from his brother.

**Once again I have had to clean up your mess. Literally and figuratively. Tapes deleted and Dr Watson's biological matter cleaned from the brickwork of the alleyway. Very romantic, Sherlock. - MH**

“What did he say?” John asked, a frown line appearing on his forehead.

“He's cleaned up your semen,” Sherlock replied.

John had a moment of ridiculousness as he imagined Mycroft in one of his thousand pound suits, on bended knees scrubbing a wall clean of semen. He cackled loudly, causing Sherlock to look over at him in confusion.

“Probably keep our lust indoors from now on?” John asked, taking a deep breath to stop the giggles.

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Why? What's the use in having a powerful big brother if we don't get the perks?… I wonder what he would do if we had sex at London Zoo?… or on the Eye?...”

“You're a bad man,” John said, shaking his head and ignoring the slight twitch from his penis as he pinched Sherlock's bum. “But you're the one receiving next time.”

“Deal.”

 

 


End file.
